CHAPTER 423: THE FURY OF WOMEN WHO HAD ENOUGH

The sight that greeted them was nothing short of shocking.

The bandits—the same men who had swaggered into the hall hours earlier, their leers fixed on women and children—now lay curled on the ground like trussed animals. Their hands were wrenched behind their backs, bound with layer upon layer of belts, sashes, and torn ribbons until their arms turned purple with strain. Their legs were swaddled so tightly that from hip to ankle they resembled grotesque mummies, stripped of dignity and motion alike.

Filthy socks and soiled nappies gagged their mouths, muffling curses into pitiful grunts. Their tunics hung in tatters, and claw marks were visible across their arms and faces. Blood trickled from scratches carved by desperate nails, staining their cheeks in angry red rivulets.

They groaned through the makeshift gags, eyes blazing with hatred. Even from a distance, Asael could feel the raw fury emanating from the badly beaten men.

Asael’s gaze trailed lower, to their crotches, where crimson stains seeped through the fabric. The realization struck like lightning. The predators had been made prey.

Clang!

A sword hit the stone floor. Then another. And another. Until four steel blades lay scattered across the ground, their weight ringing in the silence.

The women turned, faces fierce and eyes wide, and suddenly the hall fell deathly quiet. Even the children froze. For a few heartbeats, there was only silence.

Then Amarin stirred. She stumbled forward as if waking from a nightmare, her composure breaking at last. She threw herself into Sigfred’s arms and clung to him with a sob.

"Darling..." Her voice broke like glass.

Sigfred held her tight, his rough hands trembling as they checked her for wounds. Save for her tangled hair and haggard features, she seemed whole. Relief nearly buckled his knees.

"Are you harmed?" he asked, his voice thick with fear and hope.

While Sigfred’s focus was on his wife, Asael, Galahad, and Gideon scanned the hall. The twenty men lay beaten into submission—some moaning, some unconscious, others were so still they might have been corpses. But the question gnawed at them: how had these women managed to subdue hardened bandits?

A weak cry from the corner broke their thoughts.

"Please... help."

Against a pillar, a bruised young woman cradled another across her lap. The girl’s dress was torn, her skin blotched with dark bruises, her lips pale. Gideon recognized the woman, Lady Rowana—the neglected eldest daughter of Donaldton.

He was at her side in an instant.

"My ... my.. servant. She is in so much pain, and her pulse is getting weaker." She stammered as tears rolled down her face.

"Serves her right."

The venomous voice cut across the hall. A girl sat nearby, her features were slightly similar to Rowana’s own —but crueler. Gideon knew her too. Daughter of Donaldton’s favored wife.

Her smirk dripped malice. "If she hadn’t meddled, she wouldn’t be suffering now."

"Lady Maldita, don’t say that." A middle-aged lady who looked like a nanny interjected. "If Debra did not meddle, then wouldn’t it be Lady Rowana who suffered injustice?"

"Enough." The second wife—the Countess herself—snapped, fear making her voice brittle. "We’re still in danger, and you squabble like children?"

She was scared last night when those monsters wanted to violate her children. She had offered a lot of money to spare them, but that did not extend to Rowana.

Rowana bent low over Debra, whispering desperate words, but her mind flickered back to the moments before the chaos. She remembered how, when the bandits lunged at her, her maids had flung themselves in front of her. Debra had stood like a wall between her mistress and the men, taking the assault meant for her.

"Debra, hang on," Rowana cried.

Debra developed a high fever the moment they were brought to the Silverstone Estate. She was thankful the duchess and her daughters-in-law were kind and shared with them medicine, but Debra’s fever has not broken yet.

Earlier, when the predators’ eyes turned toward the duke’s daughters, three maids had stepped forward. Veronica, Lazira, and Marjan. They had smiled coyly, swayed their hips, and led the brutes toward a side chamber with voices dipped in honey.

At first, Rowana had been horrified. Why would they sacrifice themselves? She knew those three because they helped her treat Debra’s wounds when they arrived at the keep the night before.

Were they courtesans from the brothels that were caught in the chaos and trapped in the Silverstone castle? They seemed to be good people. Why were they offering themselves to the men? But shouldn’t I be grateful? If those women did not intercept those men, then shouldn’t they be the ones molested?

When the women returned, the truth struck like thunder. The men they had enticed now stumbled in tow, hands lashed behind their backs, mouths gagged, swords pressed cruelly against their spines.

"It’s time for revenge," Lazira’s voice rang out, sharp as steel. Every head turned toward her. "Those who suffered at their hands—take your vengeance. Teach them what it means to prey on the innocent."

Her words lit a fire. One by one, women stood. Even children rose, their eyes burning brighter than their fear.

Veronica’s voice cut in, smooth and commanding: "But remember—make it sound like suffering. Guards outside may be listening. Scream, beg for mercy. Let them think you are still a victim."

Marjan and Aryana stood silently at the side, watching the men who were trying to wriggle their hands from the bind. But the more they moved, the more the sash tightened on their hands.

The gagged men’s eyes widened in horror. The more they writhed against their bindings, the tighter the sashes bit into their flesh.

Then the dam broke.

Women surged forward in fury, striking, scratching, and tearing. Children kicked and bit with the ferocity of wolves. The captors’ muffled moans filled the hall—but laced within them were the howls of rage and grief, the catharsis of women who had been bullied. Some cried not in pain but in fury, their voices shaking the walls.

"Lady Rowana," Gideon’s voice pulled the young woman back to the present. "You can give this pill to her. This will relieve the pain and fight the infection." Gideon’s voice was gentle. He also handed her a cooling patch, a sealed waterproof cloth that contained something soft inside that was cool to the touch.

Rowana bowed her head in gratitude and fed Debra the medicine with trembling hands.

Meanwhile, the four maids—Aryana, Veronica, Lazira, and Marjan—approached Sigfred. They bowed low, their faces calm despite the chaos around them.

"Is this your doing?" Sigfred asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Our apologies, Lord Sigfred," Lazira spoke first. "They sought to harm the ladies. We... made our move."

Sigfred’s stern expression softened. His hand closed over the hilt of his sword, but his tone was warm.

"You did well. You protected my family. For that... you have my thanks."